What do you think?
Rate this book
The female hero in American and British literature
RustyRiver offers fast daily shipping and 100% customer satisfaction GUARANTEED! This book is in good condition! Ex-Library book.
- GenresNonfiction
314 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1981
4 people are currently reading
74 people want to read
About the author
Carol Lynn Pearson
95 books125 followersFrom http://www.clpearson.com/about_me.htm
In fourth grade, in Gusher, Utah, I won four dollars in a school district essay contest on “Why We Should Eat a Better Breakfast.” And yes, this morning I had a bowl of my own excellent granola, followed by a hike in the hills near my home in Walnut Creek, California.
In high school I began writing in earnest. I have now in my files a folder marked “Poetry, Very Bad,” and another, “Poetry, Not Quite So Bad.” Writing served a good purpose for that very dramatic, insecure adolescent. Also at that time I began to keep a diary, which I still maintain and which has been indescribably useful to me both as a writer and as a pilgrim on the earth.
After graduating from Brigham Young University with an MA in theatre, teaching for a year in Utah at Snow College, and traveling for a year, I taught part-time at BYU in the English department and was then hired by the motion picture studio on campus to write educational and religious screenplays.
While performing at the university as Mrs. Antrobus in Thornton Wilder’s “The Skin of Our Teeth,” I met and fell in love with Gerald Pearson, a shining, blond, enthusiastic young man, who fell in love with me and my poems.
“We’ve got to get them published,” he said on our honeymoon, and soon dragged me up to the big city, Salt Lake City, to see who would be first in line to publish them. “Poetry doesn’t sell,” insisted everyone we spoke to, and I, somewhat relieved, put publishing on the list of things to do posthumously.
But not Gerald. “Then I’ll publish them,” he said. Borrowing two thousand dollars, he created a company called “Trilogy Arts” and published two thousand copies of a book called Beginnings, a slim, hard-back volume with a white cover that featured a stunning illustration, “God in Embryo,” by our good friend Trevor Southey, now an internationally known artist. On the day in autumn of 1967 that Gerald delivered the books by truck to our little apartment in Provo, I was terrified. I really had wanted to do this posthumously.
Beginnings
Today
You came running
With a small specked egg
Warm in your hand.
You could barely understand,
I know,
As I told you of Beginnings–
Of egg and bird.
Told, too,
That years ago you began,
Smaller than sight.
And then,
As egg yearns for sky
And seed stretches to tree,
You became–
Like me.
Oh,
But there’s so much more.
You and I, child,
Have just begun.
Think:
Worlds from now
What might we be?–
We, who are seed
Of Deity.
We toted a package of books up to the BYU bookstore, and asked to see the book buyer. “Well,” she said, “nobody ever buys poetry, but since you’re a local person, let me take four on consignment.” As they came in packages of twenty, we persuaded her to take twenty--on consignment. Next day she called and asked, “Those books you brought up here. Do you have any more of them?”
I had anticipated that the two thousand books, now stacked in our little closet and under our bed and in my Daddy’s garage, would last us years and years as wedding presents. But immediately we ordered a second printing. Beginnings sold over 150,000 copies before we gave it to Doubleday and then to Bookcraft.
Beginnings was followed by other volumes of poetry: The Search, The Growing Season, A Widening View, I Can’t Stop Smiling, and Women I Have Known and Been. Most of the poems from the earlier books now appear in a compilation, Beginnings and Beyond. The poems have been widely reprinted in such places as Ann Landers’ column, the second volume of Chicken Soup for the Soul, and college textbooks such as Houghton Mifflin’s Structure and Meaning: an Introduction to Literature. That first little volume of verse, and my husband’s determination, laid the foundation for my entire career.
Another characteristic of my husband was to have a profound effect on both
In fourth grade, in Gusher, Utah, I won four dollars in a school district essay contest on “Why We Should Eat a Better Breakfast.” And yes, this morning I had a bowl of my own excellent granola, followed by a hike in the hills near my home in Walnut Creek, California.
In high school I began writing in earnest. I have now in my files a folder marked “Poetry, Very Bad,” and another, “Poetry, Not Quite So Bad.” Writing served a good purpose for that very dramatic, insecure adolescent. Also at that time I began to keep a diary, which I still maintain and which has been indescribably useful to me both as a writer and as a pilgrim on the earth.
After graduating from Brigham Young University with an MA in theatre, teaching for a year in Utah at Snow College, and traveling for a year, I taught part-time at BYU in the English department and was then hired by the motion picture studio on campus to write educational and religious screenplays.
While performing at the university as Mrs. Antrobus in Thornton Wilder’s “The Skin of Our Teeth,” I met and fell in love with Gerald Pearson, a shining, blond, enthusiastic young man, who fell in love with me and my poems.
“We’ve got to get them published,” he said on our honeymoon, and soon dragged me up to the big city, Salt Lake City, to see who would be first in line to publish them. “Poetry doesn’t sell,” insisted everyone we spoke to, and I, somewhat relieved, put publishing on the list of things to do posthumously.
But not Gerald. “Then I’ll publish them,” he said. Borrowing two thousand dollars, he created a company called “Trilogy Arts” and published two thousand copies of a book called Beginnings, a slim, hard-back volume with a white cover that featured a stunning illustration, “God in Embryo,” by our good friend Trevor Southey, now an internationally known artist. On the day in autumn of 1967 that Gerald delivered the books by truck to our little apartment in Provo, I was terrified. I really had wanted to do this posthumously.
Beginnings
Today
You came running
With a small specked egg
Warm in your hand.
You could barely understand,
I know,
As I told you of Beginnings–
Of egg and bird.
Told, too,
That years ago you began,
Smaller than sight.
And then,
As egg yearns for sky
And seed stretches to tree,
You became–
Like me.
Oh,
But there’s so much more.
You and I, child,
Have just begun.
Think:
Worlds from now
What might we be?–
We, who are seed
Of Deity.
We toted a package of books up to the BYU bookstore, and asked to see the book buyer. “Well,” she said, “nobody ever buys poetry, but since you’re a local person, let me take four on consignment.” As they came in packages of twenty, we persuaded her to take twenty--on consignment. Next day she called and asked, “Those books you brought up here. Do you have any more of them?”
I had anticipated that the two thousand books, now stacked in our little closet and under our bed and in my Daddy’s garage, would last us years and years as wedding presents. But immediately we ordered a second printing. Beginnings sold over 150,000 copies before we gave it to Doubleday and then to Bookcraft.
Beginnings was followed by other volumes of poetry: The Search, The Growing Season, A Widening View, I Can’t Stop Smiling, and Women I Have Known and Been. Most of the poems from the earlier books now appear in a compilation, Beginnings and Beyond. The poems have been widely reprinted in such places as Ann Landers’ column, the second volume of Chicken Soup for the Soul, and college textbooks such as Houghton Mifflin’s Structure and Meaning: an Introduction to Literature. That first little volume of verse, and my husband’s determination, laid the foundation for my entire career.
Another characteristic of my husband was to have a profound effect on both
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews
March 30, 2017
A wonderful survey of feminist fiction—this book presents the gist of what makes the feminist novel, in which the female hero struggles against the dragons of convention: society, family, domesticity and romantic love.
I got hooked on a couple of titles while reading—never minding the spoilers. I'd love to read novels like The Crying of Lot 49 and Even Cowgirls Get the Blues; and it's not only because of the catchy titles.
I got hooked on a couple of titles while reading—never minding the spoilers. I'd love to read novels like The Crying of Lot 49 and Even Cowgirls Get the Blues; and it's not only because of the catchy titles.
September 13, 2012
Joseph Campbell looked at the Hero’s Journey. These fine writers take this a step further to look at the Female Hero’s journey (not denigrated but inhibited by the more passive term ‘heroine’).
In so doing, they explore new ground, from Princess Leia to the Classics, making accessible to role of women in life and literature and how one reflects and assists understanding of the other.
I cannot understand why this is now out of print, but do try to get hold of a copy – it is truly recommended for any with an interest in women or literature (and how can you not!).
In so doing, they explore new ground, from Princess Leia to the Classics, making accessible to role of women in life and literature and how one reflects and assists understanding of the other.
I cannot understand why this is now out of print, but do try to get hold of a copy – it is truly recommended for any with an interest in women or literature (and how can you not!).
June 16, 2007
Yet another book I read to do my senior honors thesis. This book was very interesting to me because of my interest in Joesph Campbell. I believe I read this cover to cover even though the texts discussed were mostly dated at the time I read it. Reading this gave me a lot of experience seeing the hero cycle applied to female heroes in novels, which ultimately was my paper's focus.
June 29, 2016
Used this in an exam I was writing about Sally Bowles from Goodbye to Berlin by Isherwood, where I was arguing that Sally is nota woman in decay, as some have suggested, but that she might be a female hero who is still on her journey.
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews